


He Had It Coming

by panpinecone



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Derogatory Language, Double Penetration, Gang Rape, Genital Torture, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Oral Sex, Pain, Panic, Prison Sex, Revenge, Situational Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Suffering, Triple Penetration, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpinecone/pseuds/panpinecone
Summary: All Locus can do is endure. Why, he no longer knows.





	He Had It Coming

There was a trial.

It was an unexpected kindness, though one that only served to delay the inevitable.

Locus was given a life sentence. Unfortunate, but he’d made peace with it. He’d accomplished many good deeds with his borrowed time, and though they didn’t come remotely close to absolving him of his past, he was glad to have done them.

He only wished he could’ve done more.

As it was, life imprisonment wasn’t the worst fate he’d imagined for himself. There were far worse possibilities. It was a silver lining to be sure, but a silver lining nonetheless.

And then he entered the prison.

Chorus, without Armonia, did _not_ have anything resembling an adequate prison. There were cells, guards, and basic amenities, but not on any level befitting a large facility.

Because that was what the makeshift prison was trying to be, a large facility.

Locus was amazed by how many space pirates were currently imprisoned. Most of them had been killed prior to Chorus’s final stand, and he’d always thought the rest were killed during it. Here, in the prison where he’d presumably spend the rest of his days, he could see how wrong that assumption had been.

Of course, it was only a matter of time until they recognized him. Never having removed his helmet only helped so much if his voice remained the same.

“Well, if it isn’t the boss himself! Heard you ran off with your tail between your legs,” one of the prisoners jeered.

Locus said nothing.

“Some boss you were,” another said. “Fucking left us all to rot here. After everything we did!”

Agreement spread throughout the group, and Locus still said nothing.

The same prisoner spoke again, “We should’ve taken over the _Tartarus_ when you and Felix first came on board.” He walked right up to Locus and looked him in the eye. “We could’ve done it, you know. All of us, two of you. Your little squad too.”

Locus sensed the room’s atmosphere changing and glanced over at the guard on duty. He seemed interested in the confrontation, but not in stopping it.

“There’s less of us now, but there’s also less of you. Give us a reason we shouldn’t. One fucking reason.”

If there was ever a time to speak up, it was now.

“I’m not here to fight you,” Locus said. There was more he wanted to say, but the situation was tense enough without mentioning that he’d been prepared to sacrifice them in the Purge, accompanying feelings of remorse be damned.

The prisoner couldn’t look more scornful if he tried. His lip curled and he gave a minute shake of his head. “What, like that matters? _You’re_ here and _we’re_ here, that’s what matters.”

The air was thick. Heavy. Locus’s instincts all screamed at him to defend himself, to neutralize the threat and retreat, leaving behind no doubt that any further threats would meet a similar end.

But the prisoner was right: There were many of them, but only one of him. To attack would be to incite a counterattack, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that his skills granted him immunity from sheer numbers.

He held his ground but made no move against the prisoner.

The tension grew.

“So that’s it?” the prisoner asked. “Big tough guy thinks none of us are worth his time?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, well, you never were much of a talker.”

The punch almost came as a surprise, but not quite. It was the other prisoners’ descent that really caught Locus off guard. As a sniper, he was accustomed to dealing with one target at a time, to say nothing of the distance involved. Even in hand-to-hand combat, he generally only dealt with one or two targets at once.

Still, he held his own for longer than the prisoners probably expected him to, and once he was subdued, they made their frustration known.

Blow after blow, they beat him while he was down, snarling curses and slurs. He protected his vital organs as best he could, but every now and then a punch or kick would land on a particularly sensitive area. As his body grew tender, the hits landed harder, and Locus tried to keep the pain from his mind by focusing on other things.

Logically, he knew the prisoners’ anger had been brewing a long time. It made sense that now, having whom they perceived to be the cause of all their woes in their midst, they would take such drastic measures. He didn’t like it, but he could understand it.

It was also evident that the guard couldn’t care less what happened to him. For all Locus knew, he might even be enjoying the show. It was hardly a secret that the people of Chorus thirsted for Locus’s blood.

All he had to do was endure. He’d endured worse.

Bit by bit, the beating slowed, until finally, it was over. Locus couldn’t hold back a wince as he uncurled his body and tested his limbs. They were all perfectly functional, and aside from some scrapes and bruises, he was in no worse shape than he’d been in on a variety of occasions.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky.

“How was that?” the prisoner asked him. “You having fun yet?”

Locus gritted his teeth and tried to keep his breathing steady.

The smack to his face was completely unexpected, and he gave a small jump that his aching body hated him for.

“I asked you a question. _Are you_. _Having_. _Fun yet?”_

A moment passed with Locus internally debating the merits of keeping quiet versus answering, and taking a split-second decision, he replied, “..._No_.”

The prisoner smirked. “Yeah? Too bad, because we sure are,” he said, glancing around at his fellow men. “We could’ve gone _free_. We had the _Tartarus_, plenty of supplies... Hell, the only reason we didn’t was because of your pretty little promises. Easy job, big reward. Sounded too good to be true, and it was.”

Locus failed to see how that was his fault, but even so, murmurs of assent met the accusation. The other men’s discontent was clear as day, just as it had been since they first attacked him. But they’d made their point. What more could they hope for?

The prisoner kept smirking down at him, then abruptly said, “You know what, I’ve got an idea.”

Locus watched the prisoner shoot a grin around at the others, and before he could work out what it meant, he was being descended upon again.

He reflexively curled in on himself, body protesting the sudden movement. The flare of pain temporarily distracted him from the realization that he wasn’t being subjected to a second beating, but something else altogether.

By the time his mind caught up to what was happening, his clothes were torn off and he’d been pinned down. An extra burst of energy saw him struggle against the various hands pinning him, but a hard punch to the back of his head put an end to that effort and he slumped, seeing stars.

“It’s about time you made good on your promises,” the prisoner’s voice came. “Least you can do’s make our time in here a little more fun.”

A hand—Locus couldn’t see whose—smacked his ass, too forcefully to be anything but painful. Despite that, the pain wasn’t the worst part. The loud noise of the smack wasn’t the worst part either.

The worst part was the laughter.

It was an inconsequential thing to get upset over. Locus _knew_ that, but his face burned all the same. He turned his attention towards the pain radiating from his body, and though there was no shortage of it, it didn’t quite block out the prisoners’ talk.

“Hey, you’ve still got that thing of lube, right? C’mon, give it here.”

“Dude, no! It’s mine, and besides, what the fuck’s he need it for?”

“It’s not for _him_, you fucking dumbass. Try fucking him dry, see how easy it is.”

Static drowned out the rest of the conversation, and Locus wasn’t sure he was thankful. Wasn’t it better to hear? To be prepared? Then again, he felt as if he’d already heard more than enough, especially considering there was no way for him _to_ prepare.

They meant to rape him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was dimly aware of the shuffling around him, the chatter and the anticipation. The hands on him adjusted their grip as a weight settled on his thighs, and then his ass was being spread open.

“I’m gonna _enjoy_ tearing you up,” came the prisoner’s voice.

A hard wetness settled right in the center of Locus’s ass. His stomach was a mess of jitters and he bit his lip in anticipation.

“Oh, and, by the way? I always thought you had a great ass.”

The prisoner pushed in and Locus very nearly yelled.

It _hurt_. It hurt so fucking much, but he could endure it. He could endure all of it, he _had_ to. It was nothing compared to the pain and suffering he’d caused others, and though enduring it didn’t undo his deeds in any way whatsoever, it almost seemed like justice.

He’d prefer it to be; enduring it would be easier.

“Fuck, he’s tight! This is _crazy_.”

As nonsensical as it was, Locus bristled at the final word, the reaction wholly ingrained within him. If anything, it distracted him from the pain for a few precious seconds. Catcalls and whistles sounded out, and they too distracted him from the pain, except they were worse.

Just barely, he registered the sensation of the prisoner’s hips pressing against his ass, meaning he’d gotten his full length in. It was hardly something worth rejoicing over, yet Locus did anyway.

“You ready, ‘boss’?”

Locus couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to. It made no difference, with the prisoner taking his silence as an invitation to begin thrusting back and forth, steadily tearing him open. His eyes watered and his lip bled, but he refused to cry out.

He was so intent on controlling himself that he paid no mind to the hands leaving him. They were replaced solely by the pair at his lower back, where the prisoner was balancing himself as he vigorously fucked Locus.

“When’s our turn?”

“Yeah, hurry it up! We don’t want your sloppy seconds.”

“Quit your bitching, he’ll still be tight when I’m done. Fuck his mouth if you really can’t wait.”

“...Fine.”

Locus suddenly found himself empty. He also found that being empty hurt just as much as being full. The observation had him feeling sick.

The hands were back on him, pulling and positioning, and though he had no strength or willpower left, he was somehow brought to his knees and kept there. He was quickly filled again, and in the haze of pain that followed, the hand yanking him up by his hair was barely noticeable.

“Open up, and don’t you dare bite,” warned his newest assailant.

Locus thought about it. How best to clamp his jaw and grind his teeth, and how best to wrench his head away. The man didn’t need his cock to live, and if he later died of blood loss, that was his own problem.

“If you do, me and my buddies are gonna have to break your jaw. How’s that sound?”

That did sound like a significantly less desirable prospect, so much so that Locus opened his mouth and let it be filled as well. Like the prisoner behind him, the one in front pushed his entire length in, setting off Locus’s reflexes. He started coughing and choking, but the prisoner seemed content to stay put. With no sign of the situation changing, Locus began fearing the possibility of accidentally biting down, to say nothing of the punishment that would surely ensue.

“So you’re finally making some noise!” laughed the prisoner, giving a shallow thrust that worsened Locus’s choking. “Can’t say I ever thought about you gagging on my cock, but I’m liking it.”

Locus felt his body trying to pull away without his conscious input, desperate for unobstructed air flow. To his increasing panic, he was too weak to break free of the hand in his hair, and the only thing his efforts accomplished was the prisoner behind him taunting, “That’s right, fuck yourself on my cock.”

More laughter, more jeers. Locus’s body was in agony and he couldn’t _breathe_. He thrashed his head around as much as he could, and just when he thought he’d pass out and it would all be over, his mouth was emptied.

There was a short delay where he couldn’t quite remember _how_ to breathe, but then he could, and he took great wheezing breaths that rattled his whole frame.

“If you don’t want that happening again, you better suck. Got it?”

Far sooner than he would’ve preferred, the cock returned to his mouth. The prisoner had made himself understood, and Locus decided he was long past dignity. He started sucking, intermittently gasping in air for his recovering lungs, all while ignoring the flurry of obscenities brought forth by his actions.

Despite being the one doing the obscene things, he’d rather not think about them.

Ever.

The prisoner behind him pulled away with another smack to his ass, and Locus took a moment to glance back. Already, another prisoner was lining up his cock, and happened to meet Locus’s curious eyes. The prisoner winked, then pushed in as Locus watched.

It was _degrading_. They were _using_ him and he was allowing it, he was letting them, he was _bending over and sucking their cocks_—

A smack to his face had him looking forwards once more, with the cock he’d been sucking shoved back into his mouth. It was too far in to be comfortable, but not far enough to choke him. That was all he could ask for, really.

He resumed sucking as the new prisoner fucked him, and for a time, nothing else happened. The cock in his mouth thrust further in, slowly enough to bypass his reflexes, and eventually twitched and pulsated. Locus could do nothing against the gush of warmth down his throat, and he coughed as the cock withdrew, only to be replaced by another.

Again, the process began.

Cock after cock, they violated him from both ends. He didn’t try to keep track of them. What good would it do? Each time a new one entered his body, it left him more frazzled than the one before it. He knew he looked like a mess, but that was only a fraction of how messy he truly felt.

And then he was flipped onto his back.

He winced as feeling returned to his knees. His legs hurt too much to move, let alone close, and there was still a prisoner between them. He reentered Locus’s ass, prompting a vague sort of pain, and Locus preoccupied himself with blinking away the ceiling lights’ brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he took in the scene around him.

In the distance, beyond the immediate circle of prisoners, he spotted the guard. He stood in the same spot, watching everything with the same cold interest. By contrast, the prisoners’ interest was heated. They were fixated on the spectacle Locus was making, with more than a few touching themselves to the sight.

One of them appeared to make a suggestion, and by the time Locus thought to pay attention to the words, two prisoners were closing in on him. He watched them approach, feeling utterly lost. A small seed of fear sprouted within him, which he fully recognized as absurd. What did he have to fear anymore?

Sure enough, the prisoners merely settled on either side of him, taking his hands and closing them around their cocks. It was clear what they wanted, just as it was clear what would happen if he refused.

He was exhausted, he was aching, and he was tightening his grip and jerking the prisoners off.

“Damn, we should’ve been doing this as soon as we got set up on Chorus!”

“Fuck Chorus, we could’ve been flying the _Tartarus_ around with our own personal slut onboard.”

“Hell yeah. Did you see the way he was sucking me off? Who’d have known he was such a whore?”

“He’s probably used to this. I bet he was Felix’s bitch.”

Locus tensed in displeasure at hearing Felix mentioned in that—in _this_—context.

“Ha! Dude, don’t bring up his dead boyfriend, he’ll get all sad. Nobody likes a crying whore.”

“Speak for yourself, man. I’ll take a crier over a dead fish any day.”

At some point, Locus managed to tune out the prisoner’s crude discussion, only to come to a horrified realization: His body had become so thoroughly numb to the pain it was experiencing that pleasure had taken hold instead. To his bewilderment, his previously flaccid penis traitorously filled out, and it wasn’t long before someone called attention to it.

“Oh, shit, did he just pop a boner?”

There were scattered laughs as others took note, and then the guard spoke up.

“...He _likes_ this.”

He didn’t. He _didn’t_. He didn’t, didn’t, _didn’t_.

His hands slowed and the prisoners at his sides shuffled away. In a moment of naivety, he wondered if they’d had their fill of humiliating him, but that hope was soon dashed when another prisoner moved to stand directly over his head.

“Having fun down there?”

Locus stared up at him, barely taking in the question.

“Sure you are. But you know, the rest of these guys aren’t that creative. I bet you’re getting real bored,” the prisoner said, crouching down. “I can fix that.”

It wasn’t until the prisoner’s balls settled against his face that Locus thought to open his mouth, only to be confused when the prisoner didn’t immediately insert his cock into it.

“No, no, no. I’m not giving you what you want that easy,” chided the prisoner, and proceeded to drag his balls over Locus’s face. “How about you suck something else for a change?”

He brought his balls to Locus’s still-open mouth, hooked a thumb in it, and pushed them in. Locus weakly adjusted his tongue around them and tried to suck, but there was a limit to what he could do with his mouth so stuffed. The prisoner didn’t seem to mind, leering down at him and grinding against his face.

The prisoner between Locus’s legs sped up his thrusts, prompting the one above his face to glance back.

“Hurry up, I wanna make him scream.”

Fingers dug into Locus’s hips as the thrusts got even faster, and after a few that thoroughly jarred his insides, he was empty again.

The prisoner above him carefully stood, shuffling to the newly vacated spot. “Excited?” he asked Locus. “I’ve got big plans for you.”

He pushed his cock into Locus’s ass and met no resistance. Locus provided no reaction either, too tired to muster one up. The prisoner gave some forceful thrusts, but aside from shaking Locus’s limp body, they had no effect.

“You _are_ having fun, right? I mean, you’ve got a fucking hard-on.”

Locus had been trying his best to forget about that.

“So are you?” the prisoner asked again.

Locus said nothing.

The prisoner smacked Locus’s balls and every muscle in his body tensed in agony.

“Fucking _answer me_, you stupid whore!”

Another smack. Locus nearly cried out.

“_Answer!”_

Again. Locus jerked and bit his tongue.

Again, again, again.

It wasn’t that Locus didn’t want to cry out— he very much _did_, and would’ve if he could’ve, but his body was simply past the point of cooperating.

Apparently taking pity on him, the prisoner stopped his assault and said, “Fine. I know something that’ll get you talking.”

He brought their bodies together and rolled until Locus was on top. With no energy to hold himself up, Locus slumped against the prisoner, almost wishing he’d lose consciousness. But no, he’d endured thus far, he could see the ordeal through to the end.

“Alright, who’s next?” asked the prisoner, smacking his ass with both hands.

Locus hadn’t remotely made sense of the question when he felt another prisoner settling behind him, grabbing his hips, and—

_Oh_.

He shut his eyes against the spike of pain, which only seemed to heighten his awareness of it, but he couldn’t imagine opening them and _seeing_.

There were loud jeers all around, the prisoner beneath him was hissing insults in his ear, and his body was _tearing_. Of course it was tearing. His muscles were all clenched tight, no matter how much he willed them to relax. Behind him, the second prisoner relentlessly bore onward, stretching him wider and wider, and at last, entering him completely.

There was nothing in his mouth or throat, but Locus still couldn’t _breathe_.

Then the prisoners started moving and it was agony, agony he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, not even Felix—_especially not Felix_—and he didn’t know if he could endure anymore.

“You love this, don’t you?” the first prisoner grunted into his ear. “Stop pretending, I can feel how hard you are.”

...No, he could endure, he could endure...

...It was bad, but not that bad...

...He knew he’d put up with worse, he had to have...

...There were far worse things out there...

...He could endure...

“Hey,” said a third prisoner, walking over. “Got room for one more?”

At first, Locus didn’t comprehend the words. Not individually, and not in that sequence. He didn’t understand their meaning, nor why the second prisoner was leaning forward and pressing down, effectively sandwiching him between both of them.

It wasn’t until he felt the slightest press of the third prisoner’s cock at his opening that he finally broke.

“No, stop, wait, please don’t—”

It was impossible, it _wouldn’t fit_—

“—pleasenonono_stopplease_—”

It _couldn’t_ fit—

“—_nonono_**_nonononONONONONO—!_**_”_

It could.

* * *

.....

It was easier not to fight them.

If he let his mind wander as it happened, things were over with quickly.

Or maybe it just seemed that way.

It didn’t matter. It made everything easier, that’s what mattered.

It wasn’t so bad though. Sometimes he even came from it, much to their amusement.

He’d noticed a change in their aggression levels too, with all of them much calmer now they had a plaything to share. It was...

Good.

He was doing good.

That was all he’d wanted, after all.


End file.
